How Britain's Ferrari survived a double loss to enjoy a famous final hurrah

Pedro Rodríguez, Jo Siffert, Vic Elford, Peter Gethin, Howden Ganley, George Eaton and Helmut Marko. Jean-Pierre Beltoise, Alex Soler-Roig, Reine Wisell and Jackie Oliver. Niki Lauda, Clay Regazzoni, Henri Pescarolo and François Migault. All of them – the great, the good and the footnotes – share the BRM P160 in common, because they make up the dizzying roster of drivers who campaigned the British powerhouse’s last Formula 1 car of genuine significance from 1971 to 1974.

Inevitably, the returns diminished over that timespan. But initially, specifically across its first two seasons, P160 was a serious player, notching up three world championship victories and a pair of non-points wins in 1971. This was the car that claimed F1’s closest finish, and until 2003 its fastest grand prix. It was also the last to finish first in a world championship GP for BRM – the patriotically titled British Racing Motors – on the slowest and most famous circuit of them all.

In an era of the Lotus 72, Tyrrell 003/006, Ferrari 312 and McLaren M23, BRM P160 resides in the shade of history, despite those landmarks. Yet it sure added to the colour and aural vibrancy of early 1970s grand prix racing, especially when in 1972 it became the first to adopt Marlboro’s red and white chevron, the most potent brand of F1’s dirty tobacco habit that it struggled to shake off over the next three decades.

Graham Hill’s first world crown and concurrent constructors’ title of 1962 had become a far-distant memory in a decade that stopped swinging for BRM long before 1969. The ‘return to power’ 3-litre H16 was a complex, heavy and unreliable miss in 1966, and the V12-propelled P126/133 failed to rediscover the glory days of the 1.5-litre era. By the final year of the decade, Britain’s own Ferrari – although it was Lotus that built its own road cars while prioritising its first love on the race tracks – needed a serious reboot.

Tony Rudd, the beating heart of BRM for 17 years, headed for Hethel, headstrong John Surtees departed for what turned out to be inglorious eponymy, and in came talented, ambitious Tony Southgate. An acolyte of Lola founder Eric Broadley, Southgate had lived the high life with Eagle in IndyCar, tasting success at the Indianapolis 500 with Bobby Unser in 1968. But wife Sue missed home, so he traded California for Bourne in Lincolnshire and began to pull BRM together for the start of a gauche new decade.

BRM’s muddy take on British Racing Green was gone in 1970 as the team followed Lotus’s lead by embracing the commercial age. Its title sponsor, Yardley cosmetics, offered a contrasting throat-catching bouquet to Gold Leaf tobacco. The deal, said to be worth £25,000, was attributed to Louis Stanley – ‘Lord Stanley’ to unknowing Americans – who was married to Jean, the sister of industrialist team patron Sir Alfred Owen. As Sir Alfred’s health deteriorated, Big Lou’s influence on BRM and its fortunes only grew.

The high-handed pomposity, the ivory tower suite in London’s Dorchester Hotel, charged at Rubery Owen’s expense… Stanley puffed himself up as a Commendatore-style figurehead. Although perhaps he deserves some credit, beyond the comedic parody. He did introduce the Grand Prix Medical Unit as a meaningful effort to improve F1 driver safety, and also sensibly signed the mercurial Pedro Rodríguez to replace Surtees.

BRM was grounded by team manager Tim Parnell, son of the late 1950s grand prix driver Reg. In the wake of a moderate racing career, Parnell had run F1 cars under his own name for the likes of Mike Hailwood, Chris Amon, Bob Bondurant and Richard Attwood, then was invited by Sir Alfred to join BRM. He was a figure of continuity when Rudd left for Lotus, and would prove a lynchpin in the team’s early 1970s revival.

BRM's predecessor to the P160, the P153, was designer Southgate's pathway to success

Photo by: David Phipps

Southgate’s first BRM, the clean-sheet P153, immediately set the team on a fresh (and upward) trajectory. Built around a simple and light monocoque weighing in bare at 26kg, the model featured a broad flat nose and bulbous flanks outside the straight-sided ‘bathtub’ chassis to house twin bag tanks in an attempt to lower the centre of gravity and minimise weight shift with fuel usage. Southgate would also admit an aesthetic inspiration behind those curves.

The four-cam, 48-valve V12 developed by Aubrey Woods was good for upwards of 440bhp, on a par with Cosworth’s DFV V8. But it revved higher, at 11,500rpm, which meant it used more fuel, its narrow bearings also creating a penchant for pushing rods through blocks, leading to patched-up crankcases... To overcome the problem the answer was to pump large quantities of oil around the engine, which required a hefty oil tank. Southgate’s solutions would be tidier for his P160 evolution.

The V12 was not designed to be a stressed member, so the P153 used a triangular tubular frame to take some of the suspension loads off the engine block. The rear suspension hung off the transmission, featuring a single top arm and a reversed lower wishbone, plus radius arms forward to the monocoque. The front suspension was made up by a conventional double-wishbone layout, with super-light titanium machined for the steering rack and some of the componentry.

Driver-friendly on handling with V12 punch on tap, P153 and the improved P160 didn’t break the mould or challenge convention. But they were precisely what down-at-heel BRM needed, offering Stanley’s rolling cast of drivers a potent weapon, especially for qualifying at fast circuits. But perhaps surprisingly, these cars proved effective at more ‘technical’ tracks too.

A lack of reliability limited BRM’s return to form across the 1970 season, as P153 regularly broke its engine, gearbox and axle. But Southgate’s improved oil system for P160 led to a better 1971

P153’s greatest day came at Spa in June 1970 – the last F1 GP run on the fearsome old eight-mile circuit. Rodríguez charged past Jochen Rindt, Jackie Stewart and finally Chris Amon’s March to take the lead, but the Kiwi kept the pressure on all the way in a classic contest. The V12’s power allowed the Mexican to remain just out of reach as Rodríguez logged BRM’s first GP victory since 1966, at an average speed of 149.94mph and by just 1.1s. Scurrilous rumours of a 3.3-litre V12, put about mostly it seems by those associated with March, have always been denied by all at BRM. Southgate in particular expressed his anguish at the accusation.

A lack of reliability limited BRM’s return to form across the 1970 season, as P153 regularly broke its engine, gearbox and axle. But Southgate’s improved oil system for P160 led to a better 1971 – if you discount the tragedies that befell its drivers.

Rodríguez was joined by his Gulf Porsche 917 team-mate/nemesis Jo Siffert – among F1’s most potent brews. Siffert signed for BRM after a year of frustration at March and embarked on an astonishing season of multi-dimensional motor racing. Along with F1, the debonaire Swiss remained a focal point for John Wyer’s Gulf Porsche team in sports cars, bought a Chevron for Formula 2 and a 917 for Can-Am. At BRM, there was little between the two bulls – although when push came to shove, most on the inside tipped Rodríguez as the slightly better grand prix driver.

The more reliable P160 proven an instant success for BRM

Photo by: James Mann

Rodríguez was encouraged by the evolution P160 when he scored the model’s first win, leading all 40 laps of the non-championship Rothmans International Trophy in April 1971 at Oulton Park, the Yardley BRM heading Peter Gethin’s McLaren and Jackie Stewart’s Tyrrell. Then in June he and Ferrari’s Jacky Ickx put on a wet-weather masterclass on their Firestone tyres at the Dutch GP, in a fantastic duel that took them clear of the field. Ickx got the nod, but Rodríguez had led for large chunks at Zandvoort. BRMs were now reliable and competitive.

But then the following month Rodríguez was gone, killed in a relatively minor sports car race at the Norisring guesting in Herbie Müller’s Ferrari 512M. Siffert now stepped up to lead the BRM charge, qualifying in the top three at five of the last six grands prix of the year and scoring a commanding win from pole position at the Osterreichring that sent a 130,000-strong crowd into rapture.

Then at Monza in September came the closest-ever GP. Peter Gethin had fallen out with McLaren chief Teddy Mayer and found himself drafted in as Rodriguez’s replacement. The Monza slipstreamer proved his F1 day of days. Five cars crossed the finish line in a pack, Gethin’s P160 streaking across by a nose – the gap to Ronnie Peterson’s March measured at 0.01s. François Cevert’s Tyrrell was third, 0.09s away from the win, Mike Hailwood next for Surtees and Howden Ganley fifth in his BRM. The quintet were separated by just 0.61s – a finish and result never likely to be repeated. The race was also the fastest GP, at an average speed of 150.755mph – a mark only beaten early this century. Monza 2003 now holds that record, Michael Schumacher’s Ferrari winning at a speed of 153.8mph.

Gethin won again at the end-of-season non-championship Victory Race at Brands Hatch, a Rothmans-backed extra earner run in October supposedly to honour Jackie Stewart’s second world title. But nobody cared about the result as a pall of black smoke rose from the trees out at Hawthorn bend. It was Siffert. Three months after Rodríguez, his old rival had now perished. The P160 had veered off into the bank in the dip before Hawthorn, overturned and caught fire. Parnell would report a bracket locating a top radius arm had broken. When he identified Siffert’s body, he said there had not been a mark on him, that the only injury was a broken ankle. The winner of the 1968 British GP had been lost at the same circuit and died not because of burns, but from suffocation. ‘Seppi’ had become the only driver to lose his life in a BRM F1 car.

It’s hard for us today to understand how brutal F1 was back then, how the death toll ticked over with such inevitable regularity – how accepted it was that racing drivers died doing what they loved. They always had, always would – wouldn’t they? Only those directly involved know how it was to deal with the grief, perhaps guilt whether merited or otherwise, yet somehow they always found a way of carrying on. BRM rolled into 1972 shaken by the loss of its two star drivers, yet also encouraged by finishing (a distant) runner-up to Tyrrell in the constructors’ championship, ahead of Ferrari. Southgate continued to evolve the P160 while developing a more ambitious and experimental P180, as Stanley again changed the team’s colours.

At Paul Ricard, a stunt was arranged for a P160 to burst out of a giant cigarette packet to mark BRM’s switch from Yardley to Marlboro – the brand that was to become the world’s most popular. Why? Apparently, its free-spirited ‘Marlboro Man’ who featured on billboards and magazine adverts – and the company’s association with the jet-set glamour of F1. The danger and tragedy? That was all part of the allure, surely something any smoker could naturally relate to.

With Marlboro backing, BRM charged into 1972 despite with the loss of two star drivers

Photo by: James Mann

Stanley’s ambition now soared, choosing to run a fleet of BRMs at every race. He wanted six cars per grand prix, but settled on occasion for five. In all, 10 drivers appeared in grands prix for the team that year, in iterations of P160, P153 and what turned out to be the dud P180. Southgate, in an effort to overcome a V12 now falling behind the DFV hordes, Matra’s V12 and Ferrari’s flat-12, sought extra grip through an extreme 30:70 weight bias, relocating the radiators beside the gearbox under the rear aerofoil.

The drivers hated the handling and, since it was slower than its predecessor in a straight line, the wide-track P180 quickly fell out of favour – although Jean-Pierre Beltoise claimed another Victory Race non-championship win at the end of the season in one, what turned out to be the last for any BRM in a contemporary motor race.

But the Frenchman is remembered first for a far more illustrious victory, and the last for a BRM in a world championship-counting round: his wet-weather masterclass (and only GP victory) at a drenched Monaco in a P160B.

Beltoise had joined BRM in the wake of a dark 1971. He’d built a fine reputation despite limited mobility in his left arm from injuries sustained in the Reims 12 Hours sports car race back in 1964. A winner around Monaco in Formula 3 in 1966, Beltoise became a Matra stalwart in single-seaters and sports cars. But in early 1971 at the Buenos Aires 1000Kms he’d got out to push his Matra back to the pits, only for Ignazio Giunti’s Ferrari to collide with it at speed. Blame for Giunti’s horrible death had fallen on Beltoise, whose racing license was suspended. Now as Chris Amon became Matra’s focal point, Beltoise was grateful to Stanley for finding refuge at BRM. It was time to repay that faith.

Beltoise got the better of F1’s recognised rainmaster Ickx to beat the Ferrari by 38s and lapped third-place Fittipaldi, with Jackie Stewart fourth two laps down, to become the first French winner in Monaco since Maurice Trintignant in 1958

He’d finished a close second to Emerson Fittipaldi at Silverstone’s International Trophy. Now Beltoise lined up a promising fourth on the grid at Monaco behind only Fittipaldi’s Lotus and the Ferraris of Ickx and Clay Regazzoni. Before the start he asked for his anti-roll bar to be disconnected, while mechanic Alan Challis adjusted the fuel timing to make his and Gethin’s BRM more driveable – all of which contributed to a remarkable performance. That day, Beltoise got the better of F1’s recognised rainmaster Ickx to beat the Ferrari by 38s and lapped third-place Fittipaldi, with Jackie Stewart fourth two laps down, to become the first French winner in Monaco since Maurice Trintignant in 1958. The streaming conditions meant his average speed was slower than the Cooper driver’s.

But that was by far as good as it got for BRM in 1972. The fleet only scored points on three other occasions over the rest of the season, Ganley managing a fourth place at the Nürburgring. Meanwhile at the French GP at Clermont-Ferrand, a stone flicked up by another car shattered the helmet visor of Helmut Marko, blinding him in his left eye and ending his F1 driving career. Big Lou’s team was starting to unravel and Southgate’s patience was stretched. He accepted an offer to join Shadow as the American-owned team expanded from Can-Am into F1.

Beltoise's Monaco GP triumph in the P160B was to be the sole major triumph for BRM in 1972

Photo by: Rainer Schlegelmilch

Now under the technical guidance of Mike Pilbeam, later to make his name with his own string of pace-setting hillclimb cars, the fleet size was reined in for 1973. BRM persevered with P160s for Beltoise, Clay Regazzoni – who took pole position and led on his debut in Argentina in a P160D – and Niki Lauda. Labelled a pay driver, accurately so, the Austrian accepted Big Lou’s advances for what amounted to a pay-as-you-go deal after a demoralising experience at March in 1972. But Lauda soon proved his worth. He scored his first world championship points with fifth at Zolder, then put himself on the radar by running in the front bunch at Monaco… later admitting to Big Lou he didn’t have the funds to keep paying to race. Stanley took the initiative and signed Lauda to a three-year deal. But down-at-heel Ferrari had been impressed by the Monaco performance and came a-courting as it sought revival. To Big Lou’s credit, he ceded and, after a string of retirements, Lauda made the defining move of his racing life for 1974. Regazzoni also moved on to rejoin Ferrari beside him.

The empire was crumbling. Marlboro too was out of patience and focused its primary support on McLaren, beginning one of the great F1 team sponsor associations. Pilbeam’s angular P201 showed promise in Beltoise’s hands but, with the anchor of that hefty V12 still weighing it down, BRM drifted into the realm of the backmarker. When Sir Alfred died Rubery Owen’s support was withdrawn, leaving the team to rebrand as Stanley-BRM – also without Parnell as a voice of reason. The team laboured on, fuelled by egotism until 1977, when British Racing Motors dribbled to a halt. Formed on a patriotic wave of postwar optimism and belief in the might of homegrown engineering, Britain’s Ferrari had fallen badly out of step. BRM P160 represented a final flurry from a company weighed down and rooted forever in the old world.

Race record

Starts: 120
Wins: 3
Pole positions: 1
Fastest laps: 0
Podiums: 2
Championship points: 72

Specification

Chassis: Aluminium semi-monocoque with rear tubular subframe
Suspension: Double wishbone, coil springs over dampers, anti-roll bar
Engine: BRM P142 V12
Engine capacity: 2,998cc
Power: 440bhp @ 11,500rpm
Gearbox: BRM P161 5-speed manual
Brakes: Steel discs
Tyres: Firestone
Weight: 550-573kg
Notable drivers: Pedro Rodríguez, Jo Siffert, Peter Gethin, Jean-Pierre Beltoise, Clay Regazzoni, Niki Lauda

BRM's last hurrah starred on its day but it marked the beginning of the end

Photo by: James Mann